


I'm Standing At Your Door and You Just Need to Let Somebody In

by HeartSewnToMySleeve



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Fanfiction, Fluff, Love, M/M, One Shot, Romance, Slash, short and sweet, zarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartSewnToMySleeve/pseuds/HeartSewnToMySleeve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn knows he should be forgetting about the boy he saw breaking hearts at the coffee shop, but he doesn't seem to be very good at it.</p><p>Or Zayn is scared, but Harry is persistent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Standing At Your Door and You Just Need to Let Somebody In

Zayn’s least favorite color is white. It’s too empty. Too blank. Too lonely. And right now he’s staring at a white canvas. Completely white. His hand and brush have been hovering over it long enough for Zayn’s arm to be a bit painful, but still no inspiration strikes. He just keeps staring, because he needs this, he really does, but the canvas stays blank, mocking him. It seems to fill the whole room. It’s suffocating. Zayn decides he needs to step outside. He needs to breathe. He needs to remind himself that there are other colors besides white.

He walks for a while not really paying any attention to where his feet are taking him. Instead he pays attention to the satisfying crunch of leaves under his foot, and contrast between the deep red leaves clinging to the trees against the stark sky.

At some point he wanders up to a little cafe that he’s never actually been to before. The fall air is just brisk enough for Zayn to think that maybe stopping in for a cup of coffee is the best idea he’s ever had.

A few minutes later he getting comfortable at a little table in the back corner, both hands wrapped around the cup soaking up the heat. Once the feeling has returned to his fingers he leans back in his chair and slowly takes in his surroundings occasionally bringing the cup to his lips and taking a sip.

After a few minutes of quiet observation a boy walks through Zayn’s line of sight. Only it’s not just any boy. It’s the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen.

He’s not sure what it is exactly that makes him think this. The boy is a bit too lanky, and his toes point inward a bit, plus his hair seems a bit wild the curls seeming to have a mind of their own. His hands were disportionately large, and all of this added together shouldn’t work, but it somehow does. And Zayn is finding it impossible to tear his eyes away. His lips are extra pink, the bottom one slightly fuller, and his eyes are a lovely shade of green that Zayn already knows he’s going to spend hours mixing paints trying to recreate.

The boy moves with a certain air of confidence like he expects everyone to love him, and he never gets let down. When he opens his mouth to speak his voice comes out slower and deeper than Zayn expected. He chats easily with the girl behind the counter telling a joke that’s not really funny at all, but still has the girl giggling, and Zayn struggling to suppress a smile.

And it’s all a bit terrifying, because Zayn knows himself, and he always falls hard and fast and that’s never really worked out for him before. And the level of impact from the sheer velocity at which he’s falling now can only be speculated upon, because it’s never been quite this hard or quite this fast before. And he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do something like this again.

Zayn’s sees the girl behind the counter hand the boy a drink still giggling at something the boy has said, the cup has a number scrawled across it with a little heart in bold black marker drawn next to it. The boy takes the cup sending the girl a quick wink accompanied with a wide grin, dimples pressing into the sides of his cheeks.

"Call me," she says. The boy gives her a nod and with one last cheeky grin he makes his way through the doors. Zayn watches as he stops for a bit, drinking his drink rather quickly, considering it's probably still quite hot. Zayn's eyes trail after him as he keeps walking, pausing only for a second to throw the cup in the nearest bin without a second thought about the counter girl's heart drawn on the side.

 

***

 

Zayn knows that he should just forget about the boy. This can only end badly for him, just like every time before. But that doesn’t stop Zayn from filling canvas after canvas with little details of the boy’s face. He spends a day trying to perfect the gleam behind his eyes, and another whole day trying to get the curve of the boys smile just right, but no matter how hard he tries he can’t seem to get the correct shade of green needed to complete the portraits. He has papers scattering the floor filled with little swatches of different shades he’s tried. They range from all over the spectrum, but he still can’t quite get it right.

It also doesn’t stop Zayn from showing up at that coffee shop whenever he needs a break from painting.

Previously he had always found his inspiration in scenery. Maybe it would come from a small pink flower on the side of the path or maybe from a sky bathed in orange as the sun sinks below the horizon. Usually he walks around his favorite park when he needs that little extra nudge to finish a painting. But this time is different. This time his muse isn’t a flower.

And without Zayn even realizing where his feet are taking him he finds himself in front of that same cafe over and over again. He pulls open the door and orders himself a cup of tea. The first few times Zayn tries to convince himself that he’s just there because he enjoyed the little cafe's atmosphere, with its comfy seats and warm beverages. He sips his tea and stares blurry eyed at his book as he pretends to read.

After a while he gives up lying to himself. In fact this particular time he doesn’t even bother to bring a book. He’s there long enough that he feels like he has to order another drink to merit his stay. He watches the door hoping that the boy will walk through it. And this time he’s not disappointed.

The boy makes his way to the counter with that wide grin pressed into his face. He has the girl behind the counter (a brunette this time), swooning before he even opens his mouth. Soon she’s handing him a cup with another long set of digits scrolled into the side, and another marker heart waiting to be broken.

The boy turns around and goes to make his way to the door, but stops when his eyes happen to land on Zayn. Zayn is a bit embarrassed, because surely the boy saw him staring, and now he’s making his way over the table where Zayn’s sat at, and he has no idea how he’s going to explain himself.

However, the boy doesn’t seem to be looking for an explanation. He plops himself down at Zayn’s table rather ungracefully, and smiles up at him. “Hi. I’m Harry” he says.

“Zayn” Zayn answers reaching his hand out to shake Harry’s waiting one. Harry shakes his hand a bit too long, with not quite enough actual shaking to merit the length of the grasp. For a second Zayn think he’s just going to keep holding his hand, but then he lets go and smiles giving Zayn a good look at his dimples.

Zayn’s on guard now. He’s seen what happens when people catch sight of those dimples, and Zayn had a history of handing his heart over too easily to people who seem to find it just as easy to toss it aside. His heart had been broken a few too many times. Now he’s got it covered in locks and chains, and this boy makes him nervous.

This isn’t what was supposed to happen. He was just supposed to catch another glimpse of him. Figure out the exact color of his eyes so maybe he could finally finish his painting, and forget all about this. He’s determined to put a stop to it before it gets too far.

He must not have done have done a very good job of it though, because the next thing he knows Harry has been chatting away for an hour or so, and he’s been subtly moving his chair closer and closer the whole time. Zayn was sure he started out across the table from him, but now he’s sat right next to him. There’s hardly any space left between them, Harry’s leg pressed right up against Zayn’s. The poor girl behind the counter doesn’t exactly seem pleased about this, but Harry doesn’t seem to have noticed.

And now without Zayn realizing it he’s somehow managed to grab Zayn’s phone and hes typing away. Before Zayn even has a chance to protest or make a move Harry’s phone buzzes against the table. Harry sends him a wide grin. “See? Now we have each other's numbers!” he says, looking rather pleased with himself. His smile a bit crooked, and his dimples pressed deep.

Zayn sees the boy's hand starting to creep closer and closer to his own. His pinky curls around Zayn’s. Zayn stands up abruptly, makes some transparent excuse about why he needs to get home, and walks to the door at a pace that’s just a bit too fast to resemble anything normal.

The cold air hits his face, and he sighs in relief, sure that will be the end of it.

 

***

 

Zayn’s not even halfway home when he receives a text from Harry, and it’s not even a day before Harry has somehow managed to convince Zayn to let him into his flat under the pretence of looking at some of his paintings.

In fact in no time at all Harry has somehow managed to worm his way into every facet of Zayn’s life. Harry’s in his paintings (now complete with exactly the right shade of green), he's in his dreams, he’s matching Zayn’s strides as he walks down his favorite path with their fingers intertwined, and he’s there when Zayn wakes up in the morning, singing too loudly as he dances around Zayn’s kitchen making breakfast in a pair of boxers.

Zayn doesn’t remember asking him to move in with him, but Harry’s clothes litter the floor, there’s a toothbrush next to Zayn’s that wasn’t there before, and now that Zayn thinks about it he hasn’t had to grocery shop in a suspiciously long time. Plus the spare key that used to be slid under the welcome mat has mysteriously made it’s way onto Harry’s key ring. To be honest though, Zayn doesn’t really mind.

Zayn had tried to be cautious at first. He really had. The memory of that paper heart being tossed into the trash still fresh in his mind, but Harry hadn’t been the least bit deterred. Zayn would push him away as best he could, but Harry just kept showing back up. Zayn tried to hide, but Harry didn't seem to notice.

And eventually the kisses Harry pressed to Zayn's skin started to seep through, and all the “I love you”s pushed and prodded their way into Zayn’s heart. The one’s Harry called out on his way out the door, the ones slipped into casual conversation, and the one’s he whispered into Zayn’s ear late at night. And maybe now Zayn is finally ready to say it back, because if the state of his flat is anything to go by Harry’s not going anywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this is awful. I always find it a lot easier to write things from Harry's vantage point because pining over Zayn is my natural state.


End file.
